


Skeletons

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-15
Updated: 2002-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathon Kent considers Lex past and future, and his connection to Clark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skeletons

## Skeletons

by Ryu I.

<http://constructedmadness.com>

* * *

Smallville doesn't belong to me. It's not fair, but it's true. I'm not making any money off this, which is why I'm still in college instead of retired and happy somewhere with no papers to write on modernist fiction. 

This is a view into Jonathon Kent's mind. I suppose it's AU, since I created a moment in the past. 

Skeletons  
Ryu I. (ryu_itsutsu@yahoo.com) 

I hate that boy. 

It's not personal, and I don't even fully understand how easily hatred of the father transferred to the son. It simply is. I feel it on a basic level, and I've learned over the years to believe in my gut-the only time I didn't, I ended up beholdened to the most arrogant bastard on the planet. 

**all those years ago, walk into his house-pure mansion, pure castle, no sense of a home-folders in hand and nervous, no, scared, desperate, needing the devil's help, begged for it, and he knows, his greeting full of the knowledge he owns everything-farm, future, soul, family, child** 

Clark doesn't share my understanding and appreciation for good, old fashioned horse sense. Martha thinks he just has a basic need to see the good in people, and that coupled with the boy's power, money, and well bred charisma has charmed Clark in the same way it has so many people around Smallville. I've watched my son with the boy, though, and that's not the whole story. Some, but not all. Clark wants to protect the boy from his father, his money, himself. We've raised him with the overwhelming need to protect, though I'm not certain how. Of course he would take this boy under his wing who was dead when they met. 

Breathing life into the devil is so like my son. 

**sit where he motions and wait as he mixes drinks-the waiting proves his power-watching him putter around, sitting nervously shifting and complacent and fingering the paperwork that will create a baby boy who didn't exist on Earth until three months prior when the sky lit up in flames** 

Clark insists that the boy isn't like his father. Though he hasn't voiced it, it's obvious he's fallen for the image of the poor little rich boy in the high castle, literally. He's almost convinced his mother of it, too; Martha's started to gently steer me the boy's way. I've begun to wish I could stop detesting him, but I can't. 

Martha wasn't there the day I sold my soul to the boy's father. 

**he explains in little words so obviously condescending what iss owed him and how kind he is to so convincingly create a little boy from nothing from the kindness of his heart (what heart?), a drop of magic dust and illegal becomes legal, on and on, the thin hand signs the paper in precise letters as the door opens behind him on oiled hinges and a little frightened voice** 

The boy is outside my window now. He's watching my son walk out to him and his ridiculously priced car. 

**daddy? __

I'm not certain Martha is aware of the way those eyes watch Clark, glinting silver in the sunlight. If she is I think she ignores it. I wish I could. The boy's gaze rakes over him. I've never looked at a friend like that. That sort of heated scrutiny has always been saved for women. With this boy, there's a hint of sensuality in every glance. He is a proudly sexual creature who views the world with lazy desire and a sense of ownership. 

But even I can see that Clark is special to him. 

**so pale, dead pale, like cop shows in morgues with bluish tint and hollowed out eyes, so thin like a stick figure come to life and dressed in white like a ghost; little boy dragging an IV bag on a pole with the drip drip drip of saline and some unknown medication, little bare skeleton with big light eyes and egg shaped bruises on one skinny arm** 

The lazy distance is gone when he's watching Clark. The boy fairly blazes with a heat that's never there with anyone but my son. I've never been that aware of other people. I'm not particularly empathic, but there's just no way to miss that heat. The boy drinks Clark in. His eyes roam over my son's body with a desire to know him, all of him, brand him, own him. 

It wouldn't be quite so bad if the lust was all there was to it. 

**lex-hissed, no love, no paternal affection at all but plenty of revulsion, aristocratic features twisted in disgust and the little body steps back, Luthor mutters an excuse and strides across to the child all bare little scarecrow-get out of my sight** 

The boy wants to know my son in ways that don't involve....well. 

Even he can see the basic goodness that is Clark, and he wants to touch it. He doesn't want to accept that he'd destroy it if Clark ever does let down his guard enough to allow the boy all the way in. The boy's desire to know Clark's soul is as strong as the one to know his body. And, god, I don't want to admit it, but I see it... 

Clark is beginning to look back. 

**a protest-please daddy no more tests-little marks on the little body and needle tracks along pale hairless arms, child wraith who knows he's made a mistake in coming and scrambles back from his father's disgust, needle ripping from flesh and the drip drip drip of saline and dark red blood turning oxygen bright as it strikes the expensive marble floor** 

No man wants to think that his child is becoming truly sexually aware, even if it is a fact of life and a part of growing up. Seeing that dawning desire centered on a man is ever harder. Clark wants so much to be normal; being attracted to his own sex isn't going to help him realize that dream. I'd hoped Clark's crush on Lana would grow into something more, or he'd turn his eyes to Chloe. She's a smart, funny, pretty girl, and I know she likes him more than he realizes. But, no. 

He wants the boy, too. 

**dammit lex!-door slamming, a sharp sound of flesh on flesh, muffled words and a cry of pain, little boy pain, feel the guilt but grab for the papers, neatly signed, all in order, thoughts of a tiny boy with dark hair and darker eyes than the wraith's, and the knowledge that Luthor beats his child painful and biting, the skeletal freak all alone but clark's waiting and clark's safe and needs his father** 

The boy's leaving. Clark brushes his fingertips over the pale hand, but that's all. So. Another day's reprieve. My son watches as the car drives away in a flurry of dust and a slow, goofy grin spreads across his face. 

Shit. I remember when I looked at Martha like that. Sometimes, I still do. 

**Run home to a nice warm kitchen, warm wife, laughing baby boy, away from castle and hidden baby skeletons and hate, cold, draft** 

I hate that boy. 

My son is beginning to love him. 

**daddy? __

Maybe...I should let Clark save him. 

Because I never even tried. 

~End~ 


End file.
